


Memories of Sam

by LeastExpected_Archivist



Series: Remembrance [3]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-02-04
Updated: 2002-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:34:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26442799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeastExpected_Archivist/pseuds/LeastExpected_Archivist
Summary: by UluithielFrodo murmurs over a sleeping Sam
Relationships: Frodo Baggins/Sam Gamgee
Series: Remembrance [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1922128
Kudos: 3
Collections: Least Expected





	Memories of Sam

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Amy Fortuna, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Least Expected](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Least_Expected), which has been offline since 2002. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on the [Least Expected collection profile](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/leastexpected/profile).
> 
> Disclaimer: Frodo and Sam: not mine, more's the pity. This F/S: mine.
> 
> Story Notes: Writing in 1st-person Frodo is *intoxicating*. And hearing Frodo's POV has opened my eyes to Sam. MMMmmmmm.

April 28, 1419 (in the Shire Reckoning) Minas Tirith

> ". . . such was the virtue of the land of Rivendell that soon all fear and anxiety was lifted from their minds. The future, good or ill, was not forgotten, but ceased to have any power over the present."  
>  _FotR_ , p 287

I awake in your arms.

I haven't slept long. It was near dawn when you cradled me to sleep, and the light on your face now is still that of early morning. Yet I have slept well, and feel refreshed.

My face burns. Touching it, I discover the swollen wheals left by my own fingernails, clawing at myself in the frenzy of the Ringspell.

My beloved, do you know, as I do, that I will never be free? Yes, of course you do. Your wisdom is sure, especially as it regards me.

But I cannot allow the Spell to haunt me constantly. I cannot ever be rid of it, so it is my responsibility to see that its darkness does not poison you - poison _us_.

I should leave you, of course. You deserve so much better. But I cannot.

How often I have tried! I tried to leave you in Hobbiton, and again at Crickhollow. Gandalf defeated me there, and the loving Conspiracy. I tried to leave you at Rivendell - ah, I should have left you then! - but Elrond took your case and sent you with me. I almost did leave you at Parth Galen. Elbereth guided you there, Sam, for if I had succeeded in leaving you then, the Quest would surely have failed and we would all be in the Darkness now. You know that, don't you? _You_ are the reason that the Quest succeeded. You, Sam. _I_ could never have done it.

And the last time I tried to leave you was at Sammath Naur. I wanted - oh how I wanted! - to follow my Precious into the Cracks of Doom. But you thwarted me again. You thwarted me simply by being there. I saw you, silhouetted against the Fire, and I saw _life_. I saw the joy in your face as you fell to your knees before me and I saw _life_. And you would not let me turn away from it, turn away from life.

So, I must accept my fate. I cannot leave you. Would that all fates to which I am doomed were so joyous! But, if I cannot leave you, I must live. For you. I must fight the Ringspell when it threatens to overwhelm me and burn a rift between us.

Last night's Spell was terrible. *[are they getting worse rather than better? oh no please no!]* I have been wounded by knife, sting, tooth, and . . . memory. But the sorest wounds are those I inflict on myself. When I think of the suffering Merry went through my heart shatters, and I feel the dark well of shame and guilt threaten to engulf me utterly.

No. I won't. Today, I am _here_ , with you.

To break the Spell I indulge in my favorite game: Memories of Sam. This game, where I play your face and your words in my mind, has kept me alive so many times. The only place the Game did not work was in Cirith Ungol. I would not take you there with me, Sam. Better that I be alone than take you _there_.

No. I will not slip into the darkness this morning.

Memories of Sam . . .

When we met you were still a baby, only 9 years old to my lofty 21. Yet even then you were the stronger. I was orphaned the same year you were born (born for me?!) and had spent those nine years alone and lonely within the bustle of Brandy Hall. When Bilbo adopted me and I moved to Bag End it was like light coming out from behind a cloud. At last I had peace, and solitude, and quiet, thoughtful conversation.

And I had you.

You were there with your Gaffer, that first day. I remember! Do you? the first time we met? I remember! You were squatting beside a primrose bush, gently ministering to it. Your hands were still dimpled with childhood, but already growing strong and brown and capable. How I loved them! How I love them now.

How I loved you! I thought I had found a baby brother. Little did I know I had found my self, my salvation. I spoiled you, indulged you, giving you sweets and taking you on walks and sitting long hours with you in the orchards, both of us content merely to be together. I think your Gaffer was a bit puzzled, but he indulged you too (how could anyone resist spoiling the adorable butterball that was little Sam!), and never protested when your hours with me took you from your chores at Bagshot Row.

I remember -- oh, so vividly -- the first time I realized I _wanted_ you. It was at the big Birthday Party, when Bilbo left. The merrymaking was at its height, and I was a little tipsy with ale and laughter, and I saw Rosie dancing near you and flirting with you over her shoulder. I caught you up and propelled you into her arms, laughing at your shyness. But, as you danced away with Rosie in your arms, a shaft of pain went through me. At the time I was totally perplexed, but now I know. _I_ wanted to be the one in your arms.

Why did it take me so long to act on my feelings, my dearest Sam? What a fool I was! How many years we could have had at Bag End in quiet joy, before all this agony came to tear our hearts apart.

Yet, maybe that was not to be. Maybe our love required pain and toil to forge it strongly. Still, I wish . . . .

But that is futile. For seventeen years, Sam, I resisted the pull of your arms, your lips. At times it was agony. I would watch you in the garden, your hair glinting in the sunlight, your arms brown and corded with muscle, your skin gleaming with the sweat of honest labor - labor for _me_ \- and I would feel an answering sweat break out in the small of my back. Ai! how I suffered!

I was convinced, of course, that my love for you was wrong. Not because love between lads is wrong - I had Bilbo & Gandalf's example of the sweetness of such love -- but because I was your Master, and you in my service. I honestly believed that, if I made my feelings known, you would reciprocate merely out of _obligation_. Yes, laugh! I laugh myself, when the pain of regret allows me to. How could I have thought you so foolish and so petty?

But there it is again. Consistently, all through the years, I have undervalued you and your love for me. Ah, Sam, if only you could have someone worthy of you! But you are doomed to loving me, and I must make the best of myself for your sake.

And there I go again on dark trails. Will they ever lead me from the sunlight?

Memories of Sam . . . .

Ah, I have it. The first time we made love.

Perhaps _that_ is why we had to wait, so our first loving could take place in the perfect place - Rivendell. Where better for perfect love to be perfectly consummated than in the Last Homely House?

I awoke from the Darkness of the Morgul-wound (and I will not remember the Darkness, I _will not_ ), disoriented and confused. 'Where am I?' I asked, 'and what is the time?' And my next question - what else? - was 'Where's Sam?'

As if I didn't know. You had been beside me every moment through my illness. Even the Elves of Rivendell could not lure you from my side, except when Gandalf or Elrond insisted you must sleep. How cruel that they had sent you away just before I woke! If only I could have woken to see your eyes - but then I would have truly thought myself dead, and in the Blessed Realm.

The Feast celebrating the victory at the Ford of Bruinen was that very night. Elrond would not allow you to attend me, as you were a guest of honor. How proud I was of you, sitting with such fair and noble folk! How your honest face shone among the unearthly beauty of Elven faces. But your face was the most beautiful of all, to me.

Then, the Council. Never will I forget my terror and loathing, seeing the dissension that erupted at the mere sight of the accursed Ring. Never will I understand how I found the courage to speak, to say 'I will take the Ring to Mordor.' Ah, Sam, if I had had any notion of what my vow meant, my tongue would have frozen in terror.

But I said it, and the Fellowship began to form around me. And then . . . _you_. You were there, frightened and embarrassed, but determined. Your face was set in the stubborn lines I know and love, and your chin jutted defiantly as you said 'Mr. Frodo's not going anywhere without me!'

My heart almost burst as I heard that. It was the first time I allowed myself to believe that your feelings toward me might be more than those of a servant for his Master. But still I waited, afraid.

You saved me from further folly, my Sam. It was that very night that you gently but inexorably made me believe that we _must_ love one another. We walked through the woods of Rivendell, hearing the magic of the waterfalls, silent with our thoughts. What were yours? Were you thinking with fear of your rash vow? No, Sam, not that; not you. Fear and regret have never daunted you.

And what was _I_ thinking? Of you, of course. I was thinking of your eyes, shining with devotion and trust. I was thinking of your lips, set firmly in determination, and wondering how they would taste against my own. I was thinking of your arms, strong and brown, and dreaming of how they would feel around me. I was thinking of your body, lovely soft hobbit-flesh over hard gardener's muscle, and imagining it under my hands, my mouth. Oh, I was in a state, my Sam!

Then you stopped and turned to me. Your hazel eyes were glinting copper and green, and your voice trembled a little as you spoke the words that broke the long years of my resistance. As usual you made no foolish attempt at eloquence - as I so often do - but said simply and plainly what was in your heart. "I want to kiss you," you said.

Twenty-nine years of love and longing swept over me, and I leapt on you like a cat, tumbling both of us to the ground. Did you think me quite mad, my darling Sam? Well, I was. Mad with love and desire. Your face! eyes wide and startled, almost alarmed, but then you read my eyes. How could you fail to? My passion and longing must have been blazing out of them. And your eyes darkened with your own passion and I almost swooned at the smokiness that swirled up from their depths, and I bent my head and I kissed you.

This morning, so many long months later, so many long nights passed, I feel again the warm flood of sticky longing, and my loins stir at the memory. I lean over and trace your eyelashes, down the strong line of your jaw, across the lovely curve of collarbone, flicking lightly over a brown nipple, and . . .

No, I shan't wake you. Not yet. I will finish my Game.

Memories of Sam . . . . .

I bent my head and I kissed you. I heard a hum as of far-off bees, and I felt my heart melt and drip off my fingertips. I am trying to tell exactly true: this is what happened to me.

But suddenly the sweetness was engulfed with a roar of something more urgent, and my hands tangled in your silky sunlit curls as I ran my tongue along the roof of your mouth, tasting the treasures I had dreamed of so long. Your low moan intoxicated me, Sam. Surely no one ever in all the Ages of Middle Earth has felt such love and passion as we did at that moment.

We were clumsy, weren't we my darling? Neither of us knew exactly what to do next, and both of us still felt shy and hesitant. My fingers fumbled on your buttons and laces, tore at my own. You lay on the soft grass, staring up at me with such wonder in your face that it nearly blinded me. It took forever to expose all your lovely warm skin, but when at last we were naked I pressed myself to you, and the sensation of your bare flesh against mine was the most glorious thing I ever experienced before - or since. For a long time - minutes? hours? -- we kissed, my body covering yours, your arms curving up around my back, my fingers tangled in your hair, tilting your head this way and that so I could explore more deeply the delicious cavern of your sweet mouth.

When, suddenly, it was not enough. The realization struck both of us at the same time, and I lifted my head to look into your eyes. I saw there the same uncertainty I was feeling, but I saw also a devotion, and unquestioning acceptance, that made my head swim. I began to tremble, and I rolled us so that we lay on our sides, facing each other. As if guided by one mind, my hand and yours drifted down, and we clasped each other for the first time.

After that, of course, it was soon over. Too soon! We quickly learned ways to prolong the loving, but that first time we were too innocent, too eager.

Afterwards, I was so filled with exaltation I could hardly breathe. Your eyes were shining brighter than Earendil's star, and we both wept, arms around each other, my tears wetting your curls, making them cling to your damp throat.

I reach out to you now, sleeping beside me, breath quiet. I trace a finger along your eyebrows. They are soft now, but I have seen them bristle in indignation, lower in determination. Light as a whisper, my finger floats down the line of your jaw - the line that stands out when you're being stubborn - how I love that line! I brush your lips, feeling the stirrings within me, and I snuggle closer to your warmth. With a drowsy murmur, your eyes open, and your lips curve, your smile like the sun that shines through the pain.

I cannot leave you, Sam. So I must live. For you.

the end

> _If all of the strength and all of the courage Come and lift me from this place_   
>  _I know I could love you much better than this Full of grace_   
>  _My love_
> 
> Sarah McLachlan Full of Grace


End file.
